


no more shall we part

by ennaih (aquandrian)



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Jynnic Fandom Challenge, Prompt Fill, also everybody is Australian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-20 14:24:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8252348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquandrian/pseuds/ennaih
Summary: Krennic has a cat dog. Jyn, his new neighbour, also has a cat dog. While they may hate each other, their cats dogs certainly don’t.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song of the same name by Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds.

“Jyn, I need you to house-sit for us,” her mother says on the phone set to speaker.

“What? No! Why? Where are you two going?”

“We’re going on a cruise,” her mother replies, entirely too smug for Jyn’s liking.

“What? Why am I only just now hearing about this?”

“Because” -- definite smugness -- “we knew you wouldn’t approve --”

“Well, it’s horrible! I can’t think of anything worse than being trapped --”

“-- and we didn’t want to hear your opinion, frankly. Your father and I are very excited, he’s gone out and bought a whole new wardrobe just for the cruise.”

“Oh my god,” Jyn groans, mortified and maybe a little amused too. “All right, fine. But I’m bringing Helga.”

“Of course. Just make sure she stays in the yard. We don’t want her upsetting Shadow.”

“Who the hell is Shadow? What’s going on over there?”

Lyra Erso chuckles. “He’s the beautiful dog next door, he’s very fragile and lovely. You mustn’t upset him.”

Jyn sighs, giving up for now. “All right. Tell me your dates. And you know I’m expecting souvenirs and gifts and shit.”

“Of course. Thank you, my darling.”

“Yes, Mummy.”

____________

 

Her parents leave on a Sunday, adorably excited. Jyn closes the front door of her childhood home, shushing an equally excited Helga yipping around her feet. The November issue of the magazine still needs some wrangling, and there’s a blog post about the anti-feminism of Marina Abramovic she wants to finish and put up. It’s surprisingly easy to settle back into the house. She sets up her workspace at the end of the dining table, starts a focus Spotify playlist, and works for the rest of the day, with the usual social media breaks. Helga spends the day exploring the house, nosing into all the corners and barking at the occasional weird smell. 

In the evening sunshine, Jyn takes Helga for a walk. The night jasmine is out already, that herald of a gorgeous Australian summer, and Jyn smiles up at the beautiful darkening blue sky, at the interesting shapes of suburban roofs in the reflected light. The street where she grew up has changed but is still somehow familiar, some of the houses refurbished and repainted, others still beautiful with their ancient carefully maintained gardens. The great trees by the pavements still grow so green and wide that their foliage meets over the road.

When they return, she looks curiously at the houses on either side, wondering which one Shadow lives in. The one on the right has a toy tricycle and a mess of shoes by the front door. Kids can’t be good for a fragile dog. So it must be the other with the neatly painted grey wooden fence and the word nineteen in wrought iron by the dark grey door. There’s a light on in the front room, glowing golden at the edge of dark grey drapes. Helga butts her head at Jyn’s ankle. “All right, all right,” Jyn says.

It’s next weekend that they actually meet Shadow. Or rather Helga meets him first. Some time on Saturday afternoon, there’s a sudden explosion of barking and yipping from outside. Jyn’s already shot to her feet, heading for the back door, when she hears a male voice snap an order. Alarmed, she hits the sticky side gate the way she used to but it bounces open much harder and nearly rebounds in her face. 

“What the hell are you doing?” she yells, catching the gate and pushing into the yard. “Let go of her!”

The man holding a madly barking Helga sends her an utterly venomous glare. Blue eyes in an elegant older face, short silver brown hair ruffled forward. “This is yours, is it? Haven’t you taught her any manners?”

“Fuck you,” Jyn spits and takes Helga from him. “She’s perfectly -- what’s the matter with him?”

The impossibly big greyhound is trembling all over, so agitated that Jyn is upset just watching him. In her arms, Helga yips and frets, licking Jyn’s face. “Shush,” she says, “shut up, Helga.”

“It’s all right,” the man is saying, his voice soft and steady as he crouches, not touching the clearly traumatised greyhound. “It’s all right, my boy, everything’s okay. Can you go away, please?” he says over his shoulder, his voice clipped now. 

Annoyed, Jyn obeys, moving back towards the side gate. 

“It’s all right, Shadow, you know me, boy. Here, that’s my good boy.”

As Jyn closes the gate, she sees the trembling greyhound put his long nose into the man’s hand. “You,” she scolds Helga softly so she’s not overheard, “you stay here and leave poor Shadow alone.”

Unsurprisingly, Helga chooses to ignore this. The very next day, Jyn looks up from her computer screen, suddenly suspicious at the silence beyond the music. “Helg? Helga!” This time the side gate opens before she gets there, and the man holds out her utterly unrepentant dog. 

Jyn opens her mouth to apologise but then he says: “You know Cavalier King Charles are the worst possible breed to own.”

Her temper sparking, she grabs Helga away and lets her scamper off. “No, really? Mansplain some more to me about dogs, please.”

He stares at her for a few seconds, long enough for her to realise he’s really quite good looking and that she’s even more annoyed at being attracted to him. Then he snorts and closes the side gate between them. 

“You!” Jyn points at her admittedly impossible Cavvy. “Get inside!”

It turns out Helga’s found a way to burrow under the fence to get into the next door yard. Luckily, Jyn discovers this first, sometime during the week while the man’s at work. She also discovers that rather than bullying Shadow, Helga seems to have adopted him. The great shy greyhound lies on the grass in the sun and lets the spaniel nose up to him, yipping and pulling gently on his ears. Jyn watches this for a little while, leaning ruefully on the open side gate. “You know this isn’t going to go over well, you two. I’ll have to think about how to handle it.”

Shutting Helga in the house certainly doesn’t work. There’s so much scratching at the back door and plaintive whining that Jyn gives up and lets her out. “Mum’s going to make me pay to fix that, you know,” she calls after the dog struggling under the fence. “Oh my god, will you wait? I’ll open the gate for you. God help you if he finds you two together.”

But surely she could charm him. The thought takes up residence in her mind, and by the time his car pulls into the driveway that evening, she has her plan ready. “Stay,” she tells Helga sternly and shuts the front door on her. She’s going to be polite and lovely and tell him just how much their dogs have taken to each other, and how that will be a good thing. She’s also taking him a bottle of her father’s favourite wine.

“Hi,” she says brightly when he answers the door. “Orson, right? I’m Jyn.”

His eyes are very blue and clear in the light of the hallway. “I know who you are,” he says, his voice cool and unfriendly. Jyn controls her temper with an effort, hoping it doesn’t show.

“Look, could I have a chat with you? Just about our dogs, please?”

He actually leans his wrist on the doorjamb, raises a brow. That’s when she realises. He’s insufferable. And going to make this as difficult as possible. Standing there in his stupid beautiful dark blue suit with the open collared black shirt and loosened blue tie. He’s fucking beautiful and arrogant and she wants him.

“Go on,” he says, something like a malevolent amusement in the contours of his face, in the gleam of his eye.

“I think they’re good for each other,” she announces, her skin warming. “Helga needs company when I’m out, and Shadow isn’t scared of her anymore --”

“How would you know?”

She glares. “I’m here during the day, I see them together -- yes, I realise you didn’t want her getting into the yard but she did, all right? She’s pretty much uprooting the fence to get to him --”

“She’s a pest,” he says calmly. But there’s that same glint in his eye. He’s provoking her, she realises this even as she reacts.

“She’s friendly,” Jyn snaps back. “That’s what Cavvies are like, and don’t even you fucking tell me --”

“Mansplain at you?”

“Stop interrupting me! God! You fucking men!”

He laughs. It’s such an abrupt change, and changes his face in such a beautiful way she stops and stares, utterly taken aback. But the cruelty is still there, in his voice and eyes, when he tells her very firmly: “Shadow is a deeply traumatised animal. He doesn’t need something as aggressive and undisciplined as your little toy dog attacking him --”

“She doesn’t --”

“I don’t care. Keep her in the house, in the yard. Keep her away from him. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Jyn feels quite cold and controlled, knows exactly what to do now. “I understand you’re an arsehole. And that your dog is an infinitely better human being than you. Here.” She thrust the wine at him. “This was supposed to be a peace offering. But fuck you, anyway.”

“Thank you,” he says, eyes bright and bemused, accepting the bottle. 

Back in her house, Jyn tells Helga: “You can do whatever you like. If you want to be friends with Shadow, you go be friends with him. And dig up as much of that yard as you can.”

____________

 

She had gotten his name off his mail, and now she googles him. Orson Krennic, he works for the Department of Defence. Exactly in what position she can’t find but it’s enough to make her dislike him even more. When her parents call to check how things are, she lies happily and asks them about him.

“Oh, he’s such a lovely man,” her mother exclaims. “You know, he rescued Shadow from the races, he’s looked after him all this while.” In the background, Galen says something and Lyra laughs. “Yes, that’s right. Your father’s decided they’re best friends --”

“Ugh, no, Mum,” she groans, repulsed on more than one level.

“-- they go running together. You should ask him over for dinner, Jyn --”

“Yeah, I doubt that.”

“-- he’s a very intelligent, very funny man. You’ll like him a lot, go on.”

“Nooooo, Mum. What did you do today on the ship?”

Effectively distracted, Lyra chatters on about their activities. But Jyn can’t resist and eventually interrupts with: “How come he’s there on his own? He’s what, in his forties? No partner?”

“No, I think he was divorced a long time ago. A very young marriage. That’s right, isn’t it, Galen?”

Her father burbles something and Lyra agrees. “Yes, he’s been on his own for a while now. I think there was a relationship last year, I saw a woman around a few times. But I don’t think it lasted very long. No, he’s very much all about his work. And Shadow. I’m glad he has Shadow, I think he’s quite lonely, really. They need each other. Jyn, you should ask him over for dinner. Make that lovely fatoush salad for him --”

“Fatoush, it’s just fatoush, not salad.”

“Yes, well, make it for him. He’ll love it, you’ll see. Go on, ask him. I want to hear how it went.”

Jyn groans and thuds her head on the table when she disconnects the call. There is no way he’ll agree but now the idea’s in her head. Now her mother’s going to hound her until it happens or she tells them the truth.

So she writes a note and drops it in his mailbox. ‘My mother insists I should invite you over for dinner, and that I should make my specialty. How’s Thursday 7pm for you? Please bring Shadow.’

The next day she sees him leave the little old post office, and ducks her head as she hurries past to the bus stop. And when she comes home that night, there’s a note in her mailbox. ‘Thursday 7pm will be fine. Shadow doesn’t care for red wine. I’ll bring white.’

She bites a smile back and hurries into the house, hoping she isn’t being watched. 

__________

 

On Thursday evening, there’s a rattle at the back screen door. Helga immediately bursts into a fit of excited barking and bouncing, recognising her friend on the steps. “Yes, yes,” Jyn shushes, smoothing the skirt of her red dress as she steps over her idiot dog. At the back door, Shadow lets out a low bark of greeting. 

Through the screen, Orson Krennic watches Jyn with his head inclined, his mouth a sardonic curl. Her face hot, Jyn lets Helga out, and the two of them stand at the door for a moment, watching their dogs bound out into the dusk warm backyard. He smells amazing, his cologne expensive and unbearably sexy. Breathless, Jyn steps back into the house and turns away. “Okay, so thank you for coming to dinner,” she says unsteadily.

“Thank you for inviting me,” he replies, his voice very smooth and careful. She knows, just knows if she meets his eyes, he’ll see the lust roaring through her. As she uncorks the bottle of white wine he brought, he glances towards the living room where the music comes from. “You like Nick Cave?”

She scoffs, on much stronger ground now. “I’m Strayan, aren’t I?”

He grins, face lowered as he watches her hands. “Good point.”

Despite everything, they manage to have a fairly civilised meal together. The conversation is maybe a little too polite and strained for Jyn’s liking. And every time they make eye contact, she feels wild, like she could leap on him and devour his mouth, devour all his male beauty and insufferable arrogance. But she manages to control it, steadies her breathing, and does not disgrace herself or her parents.

At one point, sitting back in her father’s chair with a half empty glass of wine, so very elegant with his collar undone, he asks: “You’re an editor, aren’t you? Lyra said an art magazine?”

“Yes. But really I freelance.” She gestures to the other end of the dinner table where her laptop and magazines are arranged. “I try to write as much as I can, and publish wherever I can.”

“Mm.” He takes a sip, his eyes considering. “That can’t be easy, that sort of financial uncertainty.”

“Oh no, it’s awful,” she admits. “That’s why I’m lucky to have the editorship at the moment. It’s just a contract but I’d rather that than be trapped in some organisation that treats me like a number, doing a job that hurts the world instead of helping.”

He goes very still, a danger about him that thrills her. “Is that right?” His voice is soft.

She smiles slow and brilliant. “Yes, I think so.”

The screen door rattles, Helga whining on the other side. By the time Jyn lets the dogs in and Shadow goes to his master, putting his great narrow head on the dark blue knee, the tension has eased. She watches Orson stroke his hand along the beautiful shapes of Shadow’s ears, and realises she’s being watched in turn. Unsmiling, that same considering sort of patience. 

Helga bumps her ankle, wanting to be fed. “Yes, all right.” 

“Your mother was right,” he tells her a little later as he’s about to leave. “That fatoush is very good.”

She looks up into his face, surrounded by the arousing scent of him. “Thank you.” And it comes out breathless again. He hears it, eyes sharpening blue. She watches him look at her mouth, knows she used the lip gloss for exactly this reason, so her lips are unabashedly lush and inviting, parted just a little. He touches his thumb to the point of her chin, the barest touch, barely a breath between them, and she lets her eyes flutter closed as his mouth tastes hers. 

If it was supposed to be hesitant, just a light nothing, that possibility evaporates in a second. She responds, fierce despite herself, fierce because of all her desire, and then his hands are in her hair, his mouth is hot and urgent, nearly open, nearly wild. She’s pushed back up against the kitchen sideboard, crowded by the tall male hardness of his body, wanting so much to open her thighs and wrap her legs around him, wanting to climb him and take everything he can give. She moans into his mouth, his tongue swipes across her lips, tastes the hot wet inside, and then he’s gone. Out of her arms, out of the house, the screen door slamming shut behind him, yelling hoarsely for Shadow. Jyn finds herself clutching the sideboard, weak kneed like some cliche of a Fifties housewife.

___________

 

She decides over the next few days to pursue it. Pursue him.

Her parents are away for another two months. That’s long enough to get him into her bed, to have him thoroughly. And then she can go back to her own apartment, her private life, just her and Helga and her writing. As summer comes on, hot and heavy, Jyn wears thin silly dresses when she takes Helga for her evening walk, when she goes next door to retrieve her. He says nothing but watches her with those hot blue eyes, watches as the southerly breeze of the evenings stirs the light dress against her bare thighs. Once, twice he kisses her again, the same searing intensity, but always he pulls away and vanishes into another part of the house, leaving her breathless and aching.

Then one night she brings a guy home from some art gallery opening, a drunk enthusiastic guy mouthing at her neck and groping her breasts as she fumbles to open the front door. Inside, Helga is yipping. But out of the corner of her eye, Jyn catches the flare of a flame. In the darkness beside his front door, he lights a cigarette and draws in a breath, enough so the end glows red. Jyn feels her cunt clench in response, suddenly wet, arching back into the guy’s slobbering embrace. She lets him pull down the neckline of her top, breasts bare to the hot summer evening air. It’s dangerous and exhilarating, and she loves it.

She takes the guy into the house, jerks him off, and sends him home. If she masturbates that night with the window open and her moans carrying on the night breeze, that’s pure coincidence. 

The next day, a Sunday, she sunbathes topless in the backyard. It’s early enough and cloudy enough not to burn. On the thin gingham blanket, she lets the silky shorts ride low on her hips and tilts the wide brimmed hat to shade her face. The sun is warm and delicious on her breasts, pleasure warm and delicious in the pit of her stomach. There’s the kernel of an article idea taking shape in the back of her mind, something about sex and female agency, something about purity culture and the politics of slut-shaming. 

Helga has snuffled her way under the fence, and is now gently barking at Shadow. When he woofs back, Jyn’s mouth curves, loving the idea of them talking to each other. Does Cavvy language translate to Greyhound? Is it a dialect difference? That could be another article.

Her hand cupping her right breast, Jyn plays absently with the softness of her nipple. As she slides her other hand across the sun-warmed curve of her abdomen, there is the sound of the back door opening in Shadow’s yard. And so it begins. Concealing her smile under the hat, she adjusts her position on the blanket, drawing up one knee so the breeze plays up and into the silken spaces of her shorts. 

The side gate unlatches. 

Jyn breathes in and slides her free hand under her loosened waistband. There’s a pause, Helga panting softly. She can feel his eyes on her, it makes her clasp her breast firmer, shaping it upwards, offering her rosy tender nipple to the sun and blue sky. Her other fingers are combing through hair to the slippery wet heat of her cunt. God, it’s so delicious to do this out here, in the open, with him watching. Like the world belongs to them, full of sensual possibility, pleasure so ripe and within reach. She breathes in, arches up into her hand, strokes herself deeper and deeper, moans under the shade of the hat. Her face is so hot, breath hard and anxious in her chest, all her skin so naked and exposed to the elements, to him. 

Helga is let down, she hears her scuffling over the grass, going around the side of the house. And his shadow falls across Jyn. Her mouth parts under the brim of the hat, eyes shut as she imagines him looking down at her, at the bareness of her throat, at her bare nipples, the dip of her navel. Slowly, Jyn withdraws her fingers and rests them below her right breast, knows they’re wet and glistening from her secret flesh. They say nothing but she can hear him breathing, hears the rustle of grass and fabric as he kneels beside the blanket. Her heart thuds hard, every nerve vibrating in anticipation of his hands, his mouth, anything at all.

He makes this soft rough sound in his throat and slides his fingers into her shorts. Her back nearly comes off the blanket, his touch so electrifying, the shock of this actually happening. But she controls herself just in time, gasps under the hat brim, her eyes squeezed shut against the red striated sunlight. Somewhere close there’s a bird warbling in a tree. In the next yard, Shadow woofs low. A car goes by in the street. She hears all of these things, tiny bits of stimulation all circling the sinful beautiful sensation that is his fingers sliding around and into her yielding wet cunt. One finger, then two, his thumb finding her clit. He has her, tender and sure, working her, making her wetter and wetter, and now she clutches at his upper arm, finds the warm flimsy cotton of his t-shirt. She pushes her fingertips under the hem, pushes so she can rake her nails up the tense muscle of his arm braced on the grass, urging him on.

She wants him to tip the hat back and kiss her, put his tongue into her mouth. She wants him to not touch her at all except how he is now, fingers coaxing deep into her clenching coming cunt. But then his mouth closes over her right nipple and it’s so right, such cool wet relief from the sun. Her fingers in the short thick strands of his hair, she gasps and bucks up into his hand, her hips moving irresistible, so wet she can smell herself, that rich wild scent of aroused female. He can smell her too, she knows that when he groans, and then she knows he’s about to pull away. “No,” she gasps, eyes flying open, clutching at his chest. “No, don’t go. Don’t leave me like this.”

He actually growls at her, a low feral and utterly lustful sound, so thrilling she could melt. And then he’s tugging the shorts down, pulling them low enough that he can spread her bare thighs. The breeze on her cunt, into her most secret hair, Jyn closes her eyes and turns her face against the blanketed ground, overwhelmed by it all, by the sheer exhibitionist delight of this. And he’s between her legs, she opens her eyes enough to catch a glimpse of his shockingly elegant face as he looks at her cunt with such sultry blue grey eyes and then licks her there. She can’t watch, arching up in a cry, eyes closed tight, arching up into his clever invading mouth. Her hands in his hair, she spread her thighs, feels him spread her cunt with his fingers and eat her out, eat her deep, like she’s the loveliest flesh to devour. She comes and comes on his face, grasps at her own nipples warm from the sun, and comes again and again, a long unending series of sunbursts, like time unspools and it’s just them in this intense rippling pleasure for aeons.

She wants him to bury his cock in her then, to fuck her through her coming. But instead he leaves when she’s all limp and mindless, leaving her with just that one image of him between her legs and the sensation of so much wet sated flesh. Her body pulses for a while afterwards. It takes her much longer to recover the ability to think.

_____________

 

She sees him the next day at the supermarket. They say nothing, go down different aisles. Maybe she’s embarrassed. No, it isn’t that at all. But she’s dazed by so much want, unnerved by the distance he keeps between them, and every now and then wondering what her parents would think of this.

He takes Shadow to the little white cafe a block up from where they live. They sit outside in the mid-morning sunshine, Shadow panting happily. She’s walking down from Parramatta Road, her satchel on her hip, returning from a fairly aggravating editorial meeting. And there he is on a Tuesday, in jeans and a black motorcycle t-shirt, reading the paper, with his coffee. A cigarette dangles from his mouth, his hair is absurdly spiked forward, and he's pretending not to notice her approach.

So she sits at the small table and reaches for the happy welcoming big dog. “Hallo, Shadow, how are you, beautiful boy?” 

Orson lifts his head and takes hold of the cigarette in his mouth. A drag, that clear wary blue gaze, and then he flicks the ash off the cigarette. “What do you want?”

She gives him a slightly incredulous look, but decides not to do the obvious. With Shadow’s beautifully shaped head panting on her knee, she says: “What? I’m just saying hello to Shadow, and maybe I’ll get a coffee too.” Through the plate glass window, she gestures to the cafe owner who nods back. They know each other from way back.

“Is it my parents?”

His face flinches a little, a tiny betrayal of expression.

“It is, isn’t it?” She sighs, stroking the greyhound’s smooth neck. “You’re freaked out.”

“And you’re not,” he says cuttingly. “You probably think this is some sort of empowering feminist statement, seducing the old guy next door, your father’s friend.”

“Don’t do that.” She keeps her tone level. “Don’t put this all on me. You feel this as much as I do --”

She breaks off as the cafe owner arrives with her coffee. “I didn’t plan this,” she continues when they’re alone. “There was no agenda, this just happened.” His hostility has eased somewhat, a tiny concerned frown between his brows as he watches her and listens. “I’m as disturbed by this as you, please don’t think I’m not. I don’t know how my parents are going to react when they find out, if they ever find out. They already think I’m half off the rails and a completely irresponsible half-functioning half-adult.”

He snorts. 

“What?” she asks, startled. “Don’t you believe me?”

He shakes his head, a sharp irritated gesture as he puts his cigarette down and reaches for his coffee. “That magazine doesn’t put itself together. Haven’t they seen it?” he demands, blue grey eyes flashing in the sunlight.

“I don’t know,” she says slowly, amazed. “But you have.”

He shrugs, taking a sip and not looking at her.

“So what do you want to do?” she asks, vaguely astonished at her own courage.

He gives her a brief troubled look, his gaze sliding to where she strokes Shadow’s neck. “I don’t know. I need to think. I can’t --” he gestures abruptly “-- I can’t think when you’re around.”

Jyn laughs shortly. “Good.” She stands, picks up her coffee cup. “I’m glad I’m not the only one with that problem.”

He doesn’t say anything in reply. But when she goes into the cafe to ask for a takeaway cup and a friand, she glances back to catch him smiling at nothing.

____________

 

The next day there’s a note in her mailbox. ‘Come to dinner. Shadow wants to cook. Tomorrow night, 7pm?’

She grins and leaves a reply. ‘Helga and I would love that. She’ll bring her famous mango tiramisu.’ 

Thursday starts out beautiful, full of hope and delicious wicked possibility. Then at some point in the afternoon, Helga starts howling in the next yard. When Jyn dashes out the back door, her dog is clawing desperately at the fence, making an utterly anguished racket. Heart in her mouth, Jyn finds Shadow crumpled on the grass, one of his back legs at an awful broken angle. 

“What happened?” she cries at Helga and then curses herself. “Okay, you stay there. I’ll get my phone. Just stay, Helg. Stop that noise.”

She doesn’t even have his number. Flabbergasted, Jyn stares at her phone and then lunges to her laptop, brings up Google, swears, and grabs her phone back up. “No, fuck. You don’t even know where they are.” She can’t get hold of her parents. She doesn’t even know where in the city Orson works.

“Fuck it.” She runs out of her house, through the side gate. “Shadow, don’t worry, it’s going to be okay! Shut **_up_** , Helga!” She looks under the mat, under every object on the back steps, and finally finds the spare key under a little green frog figurine. The vet’s number is on the fridge, and luckily it’s answered within a few seconds. 

Five minutes later, Helga has finally calmed down. Jyn sits beside Shadow on the grass and gently puts his head in her lap. “It’s okay, boy. You’re a good boy. They’ll be here soon, don’t you worry. Everything’s going to be okay.” He whimpers, a heartbreaking sound, and she strokes him with one hand as the phone rings on the other end.

“Krennic.”

She takes in a quick catchy breath. “Orson, it’s Jyn --”

“What’s wrong?” he says instantly. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine. Shadow’s broken his leg. But it’s all right,” she adds hastily, “I’ve called the vet, they’re on their way. I’ll take him there. The vet said she thought this might happen …”

“Yes,” he says heavily. “His right hind leg?”

“Yes.” She rubs the tears away from her eyes, her voice shaking. “But the vet said everything would be all right, that she’ll set it. I’ll, I’ll see you there? Later?”

“Yes. I won’t be able to get there for a few hours.” His voice softens. “You’re going to be okay there with him? Don’t you have places to be?”

Jyn flaps her hand. “No, no. It’s fine. We’ll see you later.”

“All right.” He pauses, then says, weirdly emotional, “Thank you.”

“That’s all right,” she murmurs and disconnects the call, her throat thick with an equally weird blend of happiness and grief. Helga snuffles at her shoulder, and she pets them both. “It’s okay, you two fools. We’re going to have a little adventure out of the backyard today. Won’t that be fun?”

____________

 

The vet says she wants to keep Shadow at the animal clinic overnight simply to monitor his response to the surgery. “Oh, okay,” Jyn says awkwardly. “I suppose that’s okay. I’m not actually --”

“Yes, I know,” the vet breaks in with a smile. “We know Shadow and his human very well here. Don’t we, Shadow?” She strokes his head, smiling down at him. “Not to worry,” she says back at Jyn, “you can leave him here if you like. He’ll be fine.”

“No. No, I’ll stay. Until at least --”

“Yes, of course,” the vet says briskly and walks off. In the strange smelly room, Jyn pulls up a stool and sits beside Shadow’s gurney. “It’s okay, boy. How do you feel? Better now? It’ll get better. You’ll see.”

She stays, murmuring to him, until the door opens and there’s Orson with his tie askew, grey suit and white shirt rumpled. “Hey,” he says softly, reaching for Shadow with one hand and the other arm going around Jyn. “How’re you doing there, boy?”

As he pets his dog and talks to him, Jyn turns her face into the warm strong contour of his throat, so grateful for the mere fact of him. Shadow nuzzles his human’s hand and then slides into sleep, his long elegant body breathing steady on the table. Only then does Orson turn his head and look down into Jyn’s face. Wordless, he kisses her. It’s slow and chaste and everything beautiful.

“Where’s Helga?” he asks when they’re sitting together on the chairs against the wall.

“I left her at home.” Jyn is undoing his tie, absurdly protective and wanting to fuss over him.

He frowns. “Is that a good idea? Don’t Cavvies get anxious and chew stuff up when they’re left alone?”

“Yeah, probably. But I’ll deal with it.” She pulls the tie free and starts to coil it around her hand.

He tugs it from her. “You should go home. It’s fine, I’ll stay with him. They probably won’t let me take him home anyway.”

“No, they won’t. She wants him to stay overnight. Are, are you going to stay too?”

He nods, quite matter of fact, his worried gaze moving back over Shadow. She has his hand between hers, the smooth fabric of the tie squashed into a ball. “Okay.” Jyn kisses him on the cheek, and he turns his face automatically to find her mouth with his. This time when he says “Thank you,” his voice is steady and his eyes are that clear beautiful blue grey, perfectly shaped, the lashes pale brown, so sincere. Jyn smiles and kisses him lightly again before she leaves.

Helga has only chewed her way through one shoe. “You do realise,” Jyn tells her, “that’s Daddy’s favourite golfing pair. He’s going to be so fucking pissed at you. No amount of cuteness is going to get you out of that. Don’t look at me, it’s all on you. Come on, now. We’re going visiting.”

It takes some wheedling to be allowed back into the clinic, especially with Helga, but eventually the staff relent. Jyn elbows the room door open, weighed down by the bag over her shoulder, and grins at Orson’s startled face looking up.

“What are you doing back here? Shush, Helga.” He takes the Cavvy, letting her down onto the floor.

“Well, the tiramisu.” Jyn shows him the round Tupperware container. “I wasn’t going to let it go to waste. And I brought some real food too. And some blankets. We’re going to have a slumber party, aren’t we, Helg?” she adds, avoiding the way Orson gazes at her, his eyes bright and smiling. “Leave Shadow alone, he needs to sleep.”

They spend the night on the chairs, blankets tucked around them, and Helga snoring softly against Orson’s thigh. He strokes the Cavvy’s feathery head, thoughtful. 

“Why Helga?”

Jyn smiles at his curiosity. “It’s from a show. Her full name is Helga Pataki. Just like the girl in Hey Arnold.”

“Hmm.”

“You don’t know it, do you?” she teases. “Cos you’re so old.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he says mildly. 

And then: “Sorry about our dinner,” he murmurs into Jyn’s hair, his arm around her shoulders, fingertips stroking along her jaw.

“It’s all right, I kinda prefer this.”

“This?” He pulls away, cynical. 

She clicks her tongue and tugs at him. “Yes, this. It’ll be a good story to tell the kids.”

She had said it utterly without thinking. And now stares at him, appalled at herself.

He stares back at her for the longest while, and then eventually, ever so gradually, she starts to see the twitch of a smile around his mouth. 

“Oh my god, you arse,” Jyn exclaims softly and whacks him. He laughs, wicked, pulling her closer. 

“Well,” he adds, “it’ll definitely be a good story for your parents too.”

“Right.” Jyn beams up at him.

“Much better than the sunbathing story, anyway. Ow. You hit very hard, you know.”

“You’re awful. And you wouldn’t dare.”

“Christ, no,” he mutters. “I know what your father’s golf swing is like.”

She chuckles against the warm skin of his throat, kissing him there. “I’ll protect you from him.”

“You better.”

___________

 

They take Shadow home the next day and set him up in a corner of the master bedroom, moving his dogbed from the kitchen. Well, Orson does that. Jyn and Helga wander his house, poking around at things and investigating weird smells. It’s elegant and sort of minimalist, just like him, all shades of white and dark grey with the occasional beautiful ornament of blue. Jyn runs her finger down the stack of Nick Cave records, grinning to herself.

“Having fun there?” Orson comes up behind her and bites gently at the side of her neck. She gasps, reaching her arm up and back for him. His mouth is hot and sure on hers, one hand sweeping up her front to cup her breast through the thin t-shirt. 

“Take me to bed,” she says, breathless. 

And he does. In the cool of his bed, summer sun on the cool white curtains and furled grey drapes, they fuck for the first time and it’s every bit as wild and urgent as she wanted, as every kiss from him had promised. Her nails dig into the smooth skin of his back, her gasps swallowed by his mouth as he sinks his cock into her, and she gets to wrap her legs around him like she wanted. He fucks her hard and thoroughly, watches as she comes and cries out, her hair across the pillows. She pushes him back down, turns him so she’s on top, and pulls his hands to cover her breasts as she rides his cock, hard and relentless, til he’s groaning and pushing himself up, holding her closer to him. Her ankles locked around each other at the small of his back, he fucks up into her, gasping into her mouth, wrapped in her arms. She comes, held by him, and holds his face when he comes inside her, feeling like she devours every bit of him.

Afterwards, as they lie together, unable to stop touching each other, there’s a scuffling at the foot of the bed. And Helga pops up, irrepressible as always.

“Oh no, you don’t! Get off the bed. Off!”

Jyn merely lies on her side and grins. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

He swings around, blue eyes indignant and silver brown hair all messy. “Are you serious? Is there nothing you can do about this?”

She shrugs, slow enough that he gets distracted by her bare breasts. Helga has snuffled her way under the covers, cold nose pressed against Jyn’s calf. 

“Oh my god,” Orson groans, coming back to lie down. “This is impossible,” he says absently, stroking the back of his fingers against her nipples.

“Shh. It’s change. Change is good. You’ll get used to it.”

“I suppose,” he says dubiously. Jyn knows he hasn’t yet noticed the covers wriggle as Helga travels the bed. 

He lowers his head to lick at Jyn’s nipples, a sensation lovely enough that she turns onto her back to fully accommodate him. Waiting for it.

“Oh jesus!” he yelps and bolts up in bed.

She laughs and laughs. This is going to be so much fun.

**Author's Note:**

> Shadow is totally a real life dog who belongs to one of my extended extended not-really family. I made everything else up. Er. Yes. *shifty eyes*
> 
> If Krennic's blue suit seems familiar to you, it's prolly cos of [this](http://directororsonwelleskrennic.tumblr.com/post/151584824657/nathan-abel-llewyn-ben-mendelson-attends-the).


End file.
